JehNee

Steve startled, then snorted into his champagne flute. “Sorry. Just… thinking.”

“Well, knock it off. Nobody thinks at a wedding.” Eddie raised his glass like a toast and drained it in one swallow. His rings clinked against the fragile stem. “Except me, of course, but that’s because I’m cursed with vision. And that band? Atrocious.”

Steve followed his gaze. The band was murdering a Top 40 hit, heavy on the synthesizer. He laughed, soft, because Eddie looked genuinely offended. “Not your scene?”

“Scene?” Eddie scoffed. “This isn’t a scene, Harrington, it’s a hostage situation.” He clinked his empty glass against Steve’s still half-full one. “Here’s to surviving it.”

The crystal ping resonated in Steve’s chest longer than it should have. He took a swallow, mostly to hide the flush that crept up his neck.

Eddie leaned back in his chair, smirking at the crowd. He looked wildly out of place: black jeans instead of slacks, his jacket missing already, curls frizzing in the humidity. But he also looked… good. Relaxed in a way Steve never managed to be at these things. Eddie didn’t care if he fit, didn’t care if people stared. And they did stare.

Steve felt like he couldn’t look away either.

“So,” Eddie drawled, swiveling his head toward him. “Want to blow this popsicle stand?”

Steve blinked. “What?”

“C’mon.” Eddie gestured at the dance floor. “We’ve done our civic duty. Smiled politely, clapped when they kissed, ate the rubber chicken. You and me—we could be having way more fun somewhere else.”

Steve shook his head, though not with much conviction. “Where would we even go?”

Eddie’s grin widened, all teeth and trouble. “Bet you won’t find out.”

That did it. The challenge in his voice, the spark in his eyes—it lit something reckless in Steve’s chest. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe he was just sick of being the guy who always stayed polite, who always stayed in line.

“I’ll take that bet,” he heard himself say.

Minutes later, Eddie had slipped a half-full bottle of champagne off an abandoned table. They snuck out through the side doors like teenagers sneaking out of study hall, stifling laughter that kept bubbling up every time they nearly tripped over each other in the dark.

The night air hit cool against Steve’s flushed skin. He breathed it in greedily, like relief. The sound of the band dulled behind them as they crossed the parking lot, slipping into the shadowed trees at the edge.

“Destination?” Steve asked, trying to sound casual even as his pulse thrummed.

Eddie swung the bottle by its neck. “Lover’s Lake. Obviously.”

Steve almost tripped over his own feet. “That’s—what, a twenty-minute walk?”

“Fifteen if you keep up.” Eddie threw him a wicked grin over his shoulder. “What’s wrong, Harrington, afraid of the dark?”

Steve rolled his eyes but followed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” Eddie corrected.

They hiked through the brush, laughter slipping out between them every time Eddie nearly lost his footing or when Steve caught a branch to the face. It was stupid and messy and so unlike the polished wedding just a mile behind them. Steve felt lighter with each step, like he’d left some invisible weight back in that hall.

By the time they reached the clearing where the trees opened to the lake, his cheeks hurt from smiling.

The moon hung low, silver streaks shimmering across the water. Fireflies dotted the grass. The only sound was the faint thrum of cicadas and their own footsteps crunching on dry earth.

Eddie dropped the quilt he’d grabbed from his van with a theatrical flourish, spreading it across the ground. “Five-star accommodations,” he declared. “Complimentary view of the cosmos, bugs included.”

Steve laughed and lowered himself beside him. The grass was cool through his dress pants, the night air brushing damp against his skin. He tried to focus on the lake, the fireflies, anything but how close Eddie was. Their knees brushed, casual, then brushed again—not casual. Steve’s pulse picked up.

Eddie popped the champagne bottle open with a grunt and a spray of foam. “See? No tuxedoed waiter required.” He took a long pull straight from the neck, then passed it over, rings catching the moonlight.

Steve’s fingers grazed Eddie’s as he took it. The touch lingered, too long to be accidental. His chest tightened. He tilted the bottle back, bubbles fizzing down his throat, before passing it back quickly, like holding onto it might give him away.

Eddie sprawled back onto his elbows, curls spilling, shirt tugging up just enough to reveal a strip of pale skin above his waistband. Steve’s eyes snagged on it before he forced them back to the lake. Don’t stare. Don’t be obvious.

“So,” Eddie said, gesturing with the bottle, “you buy into all that?”

“All what?” Steve asked, thankful for the distraction.

“The vows. The rings. The whole ‘I promise to love you forever and ever until death do us part’ gig. Feels a little… culty, don’t you think?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I mean,” Eddie went on, warming to his theme, “everyone dressed the same, chanting lines at the couple like they’re invoking some higher power. Creepy as hell.”

Steve glanced at him, trying to decide if he was serious. “Or maybe,” he said slowly, “it’s not about the words. Maybe it’s just… people wanting to believe in something.”

Eddie’s grin turned sharp, amused. “Spoken like a true romantic.”

Heat rushed to Steve’s face. “I’m not—” He broke off, shifting uncomfortably. “I just think… it’s not the worst thing, having someone who means it. Who shows up.”

Eddie studied him for a beat longer than was comfortable. Then he tipped his head back and laughed. “God, Harrington. You’d make one hell of a Hallmark card.”

Steve forced a chuckle, but his stomach was in knots. He wanted to argue, wanted to say it wasn’t about romance movies or vows, it was about how he kept glancing at Eddie and wondering if he’d ever be brave enough to just—say it.

The bottle came back his way. Their fingers brushed again, deliberate this time. Steve’s breath caught.

“You’re quiet,” Eddie said, watching him over the rim of the bottle. “That’s suspicious.”

“Just thinking,” Steve muttered.

“Dangerous habit,” Eddie teased. He stretched out fully on his back, arms folded behind his head. His shirt rode higher, the pale line of his stomach catching the moonlight. Steve’s eyes darted there again before he jerked them away. His throat felt dry.

He wanted to say something—anything—that might bridge the space between them. But the words stuck. What if Eddie laughed? What if it ruined this, the easy warmth of sitting by the lake like they belonged there?

Steve lay back too, trying to mimic Eddie’s careless sprawl, but every nerve in his body was screaming. The blanket was thin, he could feel the heat radiating off Eddie beside him. Their knees touched again, steady pressure this time. Steve didn’t move away.

The cicadas hummed, the champagne fizzed, Eddie’s breathing slowed like he could fall asleep right here. Steve stared at the sky, stars smeared like powdered sugar, and thought: Say it. Just say it.

But his tongue refused to cooperate.

Instead he let his eyes drift sideways, to Eddie’s face in profile—cheekbones sharp, lashes dark against his skin, lips parted just slightly. The sight made Steve’s chest ache.

Eddie cracked one eye open suddenly, catching him. “What?”

Steve startled. “Nothing.”

Eddie smirked, eyes closing again. “If you say so.”

Steve’s pulse thundered. He wanted to laugh it off, to shove the moment away with some dumb joke, but the truth pressed against his ribs, insistent. He could feel it building, like champagne bubbles desperate to spill over.

He wasn’t sure how long he could keep it in.

The champagne was almost gone, the bottle lying on its side in the grass, and Steve could feel the fuzziness in his limbs—not drunk, exactly, but loose, too aware of the warmth bleeding between their knees.

Eddie exhaled, long and slow, eyes on the lake. “You know,” he said, voice quieter now, almost thoughtful, “I used to think marriage was a scam. Some tax loophole wrapped in tulle and bad cake.”

Steve gave a soft laugh, trying not to sound too nervous. “Sounds about right for you.”

“Mm.” Eddie’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t look away from the water. “But then, I don’t know. Sometimes I watch all that: people crying over vows, dancing like idiots... and I wonder if maybe it’d be worth it. With the right person.”

The words landed in Steve’s chest like a stone dropped into still water. His heart stuttered, ripples spreading outward. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt tight. Worth it. With the right person. Was Eddie joking? Was he serious? Steve couldn’t tell, and the not knowing made his head buzz worse than the champagne.

His knee pressed harder against Eddie’s, like his body decided before his brain could. He didn’t move it back.

Eddie finally turned his head, catching Steve with a sidelong glance. His eyes gleamed in the low light, sharp and unreadable. “What, Harrington? You look like I just said something scandalous.”

Steve forced a crooked smile. “Just surprised, I guess. Didn’t think you’d ever admit to wanting… that.”

Eddie’s grin turned sly. “Who said I wanted it? I just said I wondered.”

“Uh-huh.” Steve tried to keep it casual, tried not to let his voice shake. “So you’ve got someone in mind, then? For this hypothetical cult ritual?”

Eddie’s laugh was low, warm. “Maybe.” He let the word hang in the air, like smoke curling slow and deliberate.

Steve’s chest squeezed tight. He wanted to push, wanted to ask who, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His skin felt too hot.

Instead, he shifted on the blanket, leaning back onto his palms like Eddie had earlier. The move brought them closer, their shoulders brushing. He could smell Eddie’s cologne... or maybe just shampoo, something sharp and clean under the musk of smoke and night air.

Eddie didn’t move away. If anything, he tilted slightly toward Steve, deliberate, like gravity worked differently between them. Their knees were firmly pressed now, no pretending it was accidental.

Steve’s pulse hammered in his ears. Every nerve ending screamed do something, but he couldn’t. Not yet. His thoughts tripped over themselves: If I say it, it changes everything. If I don’t, I’ll regret it forever.

Eddie’s gaze lingered, longer than teasing should allow. His smile was still there, but softer now, like he was holding something back.

Steve tried to laugh, to cut the tension. “Guess I should feel flattered, huh? Sitting here with you, champagne, moonlight, lakeside confessions…”

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie drawled, leaning just a fraction closer, “if I wanted to propose, I’d at least get down on one knee.”

The joke made Steve choke out a startled laugh, but his stomach flipped. He pictured it, ridiculous and impossible, Eddie kneeling in the grass with that grin. It was too much, too raw. He dragged a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself, but the touch of Eddie’s knee against his, the weight of his stare—it pinned him in place.

The silence stretched. Eddie didn’t rescue him with another joke this time. He just sat there, watching, eyes dark and glinting like he already knew exactly what Steve was thinking.

Steve’s mouth went dry. His heart slammed against his ribs, the truth clawing its way up, desperate. He could almost taste it, bitter and sweet all at once.

If he didn’t say something soon, he was going to explode.

Steve’s chest felt like it was going to crack open. The silence had stretched too far, and Eddie was still watching him like he knew, like he’d already guessed everything. The pressure built until the words just tumbled out, clumsy and unpolished.

“I like you.”

The second the sentence left his mouth, Steve wanted to claw it back, shove it down his throat and bury it under a million dumb jokes. His whole body went hot, ears burning. He could barely breathe.

Eddie went very still. His grin vanished, eyes narrowing—not mean, just sharp, like he was trying to make sure he’d heard right. “Say that again.”

Steve’s stomach flipped. Oh, God. Abort. Bail. Pretend you didn’t just say that. But Eddie was staring at him, unblinking, and his mouth moved before his brain caught up.

“I said—” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. “I like you, okay? More than I should, probably. More than I know what to do with.”

The silence that followed was worse than any laughter could’ve been. Steve’s pulse thundered in his ears. He wanted to sink into the ground, vanish, anything to escape the weight of Eddie’s stare. He’s going to laugh. Or worse, he’s going to pity me.

Then Eddie let out a low whistle. His grin crept back in, slow, incredulous. “Well, shit. Didn’t see that confession coming.”

Steve groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Yeah, you can laugh, I deserve it.”

But Eddie didn’t laugh. He leaned in, eyes bright, intent. “You think I’d laugh at that?” His voice was softer now, the usual sharpness dulled. “Stevie, you just dropped a bomb on me.”

Steve’s heart was still racing, but something in Eddie’s tone loosened the knot in his chest. He peeked through his fingers, half-terrified, half-hoping. “So… what, you’re not gonna tell me I’m crazy?”

“Crazy? Absolutely,” Eddie said, smirking. “But for liking me? Nah. That part makes perfect sense.”

The words landed like a jolt of electricity. Steve blinked, sure he’d misheard. “Wait, what—?”

Before he could finish, Eddie shifted closer. The space between them shrank, knees pressed tight, shoulders brushing full-on now. Eddie’s curls fell forward as he leaned in, eyes locked on Steve’s like he was searching for any hint of doubt.

Steve couldn’t think. His whole body buzzed, heat pooling low in his stomach. Every nerve screamed don’t screw this up.

Eddie’s hand came up, tentative at first, then firmer, fingers curling against the back of Steve’s neck. The touch sent sparks racing down his spine.

“Relax, Harrington,” Eddie murmured, close enough that Steve could feel his breath. “I’m not about to bite.”

Steve’s laugh came out strangled. “That’s not really helping.”

“Want me to help?” Eddie’s smirk deepened, but there was something softer underneath it now, something Steve hadn’t seen before.

He didn’t get a chance to answer. Eddie’s lips brushed his, quick, testing.

For a split second, Steve’s brain short-circuited. He’d spent hours—hell, years—imagining something like this and still hadn’t been ready for the reality of Eddie’s mouth on his. The warmth lingered, electric, and then it was gone.

Which was unacceptable.

Steve lunged, hands shooting up before he even thought about it, catching Eddie’s jaw and pulling him back down. Their mouths crashed together, sloppy and desperate, all the restraint he’d been choking on finally snapping. Eddie made a surprised noise that turned into a laugh swallowed between kisses, and Steve thought he might die from how good it felt.

The taste of champagne clung to Eddie’s lips, tart and sweet, fizzing at the edges of Steve’s tongue. The blanket shifted beneath them, the grass pricking through thin fabric where Steve’s hands scrambled for purchase. He was too aware of everything: the weight of Eddie’s hair brushing his cheek, the scrape of rings against his neck, the sound of cicadas thrumming steady in the background like a heartbeat.

Eddie tugged at Steve’s shirt, bunching the fabric in his fists. “Guess weddings aren’t a total scam after all,” he muttered, grinning against Steve’s mouth.

Steve groaned, breathless. “You’re insufferable.” He kissed him again, harder, determined to shut him up.

It worked. Eddie melted back into him with a low, pleased hum, his mouth opening under Steve’s, his tongue teasing at the edge of Steve’s teeth. Steve’s stomach flipped, heat spiking low, his pulse hammering everywhere at once. He’d never felt this unguarded, never let himself want so openly. And Eddie kissed him back like he knew exactly what to do with all that wanting.

They tipped sideways onto the quilt, Steve half on top, Eddie pulling him closer like he belonged there. Hands roamed, clumsy at first, then bolder — Eddie’s fingers slipping under the hem of Steve’s shirt, nails scratching lightly at his spine. Steve shivered, hips jerking forward before he could stop himself.

Eddie broke the kiss with a sharp inhale, eyes dark, lips swollen. He smirked, the bastard, like he’d just caught Steve doing something scandalous. “Careful, Harrington. You keep that up, I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

Steve’s laugh came out strangled. “Shut up,” he muttered again, shoving at Eddie’s shoulder before dragging him back in. The joke helped, though—it cut through the panic buzzing in Steve’s chest, gave him something to push against. He kissed Eddie harder, poured all his fear and want into it, until his body hummed like static.

Eddie rolled them, pinning Steve to the blanket. His curls fell in a curtain, tickling Steve’s face, his grin wicked and triumphant. “That’s better,” he said, and then he was kissing him again, rougher, deeper, like he couldn’t get enough.

Steve’s hands found their way under Eddie’s shirt this time, sliding over hot skin, tracing the dip of his waist and the sharp line of his ribs. Eddie arched into the touch with a hiss, biting at Steve’s lip in retaliation. Steve gasped, then chased after his mouth, too far gone to care about pride.

Every movement turned hotter, hungrier. Their hips shifted, grinding together through layers of fabric, and Steve’s brain shorted out completely. The world narrowed to this: Eddie’s body pressed tight to his, the lake breeze cooling sweat-damp skin, the muffled thud of music from the wedding carrying faint through the trees.

Steve clung to him, half-dizzy with relief and panic all at once. Relief, because Eddie was here, kissing him like he meant it. Panic, because some part of him still whispered it might vanish, that Eddie might regret it in the morning.

But Eddie didn’t kiss like a man planning to regret anything. His certainty radiated from every touch: the grip of his hand at Steve’s hip, the press of his chest against Steve’s, the way he laughed breathlessly between kisses like this was the best goddamn night of his life.

Steve let himself drown in it. For once, he stopped overthinking, stopped second-guessing, and just let himself want.

When Eddie finally pulled back, both of them panting, their foreheads bumped together, sweat-slick. Eddie’s smile was reckless and bright, his thumb brushing along Steve’s jaw like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch him.

“Still think I’m gonna laugh at you?” Eddie murmured.

Steve swallowed hard, his chest aching. “Not anymore.”

Eddie grinned wider, satisfied, before kissing him again... slower this time, like he wanted to savor it. Steve’s body trembled with the force of holding still, of realizing that for once, he didn’t have to.

They broke apart only when breathing became impossible, foreheads pressed together, chests heaving. Steve could feel Eddie’s grin against his cheek—wide, smug, and maybe a little dazed.

They sprawled back onto the blanket, side by side this time, limbs tangling like neither of them quite knew how to separate. The night air cooled Steve’s damp skin, but the heat still hummed under his ribs, stubborn and insistent.

Eddie let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Confessions under moonlight by a lake,” he said, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Pretty damn cinematic, Harrington. If you start quoting poetry, I’m out.”

Steve barked a laugh, shaky and too loud in the quiet. “Yeah, because you’re the picture of subtlety.”

Eddie peeked at him from under his arm, grin sharp. “Please. I’ve got range.”

Steve shook his head, grinning despite the way his chest still felt tight. He turned onto his side, watching Eddie’s curls spill across the quilt, the moonlight catching on his rings. Everything felt unreal—like he might blink and find himself back at the wedding, sweaty and restless, pretending.

“I thought…” He swallowed, voice catching. “I thought you’d laugh. Or push me away. Or something.”

Eddie shifted his arm, lowering it so Steve could see his face fully. His expression softened, all the sharp edges smoothed out. “You kidding? I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”

The words hit Steve harder than the champagne had, knocking the air from his lungs. “Wait—what?”

“Don’t look so shocked,” Eddie said, rolling onto his side too, close enough that their noses almost brushed. “You think I drag everyone to lakes at midnight and kiss ‘em breathless? You’re special, Harrington. Hate to break it to you.”

Steve’s laugh came out uneven, half a sigh. He didn’t know what to do with the warmth spreading through his chest, so he let it happen, let himself believe Eddie meant it. For once, he didn’t argue.

Eddie tugged the quilt higher, tossing it over both of them with a flourish. “There. Romantic ambiance maintained. Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but when Eddie’s arm settled casually around his shoulders, he didn’t move away. Instead, he let himself sink into it, resting his head against Eddie’s chest. He could hear the steady thump of Eddie’s heart under his ear, grounding and unreal at the same time.

Their hands found each other without much thought, fingers lacing together, fitting like they’d been meant to for a long time. Steve stared at their joined hands in the moonlight, rings cool against his skin, and felt something in him finally settle.

The cicadas kept up their low hum, the water lapped at the shore, and the distant pulse of wedding music blurred into nothing. Here, with Eddie’s chest rising steady under his cheek and their fingers locked tight, the world felt small and simple in the best way.

Steve’s eyelids grew heavy, the champagne fuzz and the warmth of Eddie’s body dragging him toward sleep. He fought it, not wanting to waste a second of this—of them.

But his voice slipped out, soft, half-asleep. “I guess maybe weddings don’t suck after all.”

Eddie snorted, chest shaking under Steve’s head. “Careful, Harrington. I might make you put a ring on it someday.”

He mimes playing the guitar, which – dorky. Cute. It’s both. Eddie likes both, so to speak, he plays for both teams. He runs his eyes over the guy again, noting he’s very good-looking. “That’s me,” he says, chuckling. He digs in his pocket for his pack, and holds it out. “Want one?” 

The guy takes one, and Eddie lights it for him. He mirrors Eddie, leaning against the wall with about a foot between them. Eddie watches him in his peripheral vision; he takes a few leisurely drags, tipping his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. 

“Did you enjoy the show?” Eddie asks, after a while. He’s curious, but not hopeful – Mr Handsome looks very straight-laced, very pop-rock, very church on Sundays. 

“I could see this much of you from the bar,” the guy says, framing his face between his two hands from his eyebrows to the top of his head. 

“And yet you still came looking, huh?” Eddie can’t help himself, can’t help dipping his toe in the waters to test them – he’s a born flirt. 

Gorgeous shoots him a bitchy sideways look that sets Eddie’s heart aflutter, especially when the corner of his mouth twitches ever-so-slightly. “I don’t know that the sound is for me,” he says, with distaste, the way one would say a daily colonoscopy is not for them. 

Eddie might be in love. 

“Ed! Come on dude, we gotta go!” Jeff calls from the doorway. Eddie lifts himself away from the wall, ashing his cigarette and tossing Handsome a charming grin and a waggle of his fingers. 

“See you tomorrow night,” he croons, following Jeff out. 

***

“It could grow on me,” Mr Handsome says, appearing and taking his spot against the wall in the smokers’ section near Eddie. 

“What could? Mould? Probably need to get that checked, big boy.” 

Oh that look of bitchy contempt. Eddie’s going to write a love song about it.

“I mean, if you want to compare your music to mould,” he says, lifting a brow. He sticks out his hand and opens and closes it in a give me gesture. Eddie’s already handing over a cigarette. 

“Either way, you came back,” Eddie says, running his tongue along his bottom lip. Mr Handsome’s gaze follows the motion for a flicker of a heartbeat before it darts away. 

“I work here. I have to come back.” 

“No, I think it’s me, I think you’re obsessed with me and you’re Corroded Coffin’s biggest fan,” Eddie teases. Their shoulders brush, leather against polo. Behind Mr Beautiful’s head, Gareth appears, gesturing for Eddie to hurry up. 

“There’s that famous rockstar ego, huh?” Handsome says. 

“Guilty. I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Eddie calls over his shoulder as he leaves. “Third and final show.” 

“I wouldn’t count on it!” 

***

Gorgeous is already waiting for him the next night. 

“Steve.” When Eddie lifts a questioning brow, Gorgeous points at himself. “I’m Steve.”

He doesn’t offer Eddie a pack of cigarettes – he offers Eddie his own lit one. Eddie takes it, their fingertips brushing. Steve watches Eddie bring the cigarette to his lips, his eyes trained on Eddie’s mouth, on the way they indirectly kiss by touching the same spot. Eddie feels it so acutely, more than he has in a long time – the loneliness of the road and the lifestyle that he’s been ignoring, the deep longing for his person. It’s a strange thing, to miss someone you haven’t even met yet. 

But Eddie’s had the beautiful bartender – Steve – on his mind for two days now. 

And Eddie… well Eddie’s never exactly played it safe. 

“You know the French have a saying,” he begins, conversationally, “‘qui allume encule,’ which roughly says, ‘light their cigarette, fuck them in the ass.’” He holds the cigarette out for Steve to take back. 

He’s gone very still though, and Eddie tenses, suddenly aware that Steve is clearly athletic stock; probably well and truly capable of kicking Eddie’s ass. Maybe he read this wrong, maybe Steve wasn’t looking at him like that, maybe he’s been alone so long he can’t read signs anymore– 

“You just threatening me with a good time, or you gonna follow through?” Steve asks, low and husky. 

Eddie blinks, because he didn’t realise they were standing so close – they’re facing each other, their shoulders against the wall, a scant six inches between their chests. Eddie can smell his delicious cologne, and see the green in his hazel eyes. Steve tilts his head, rocking a little closer. They’re alone in this smokers’ section, the venue already closed up for the night. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Eddie says regretfully. His hand finds Steve’s hip, and slips around to his lower back. 

Steve shrugs. “I don’t like this job much. My best friend has always wanted to design band merch.” Both his hands rest on Eddie’s chest. 

“Did you just hire yourself to my crew?” Their noses brush. 

“Someone has to come keep your ego in check.” Steve’s mouth ghosts against the corner of Eddie’s lips.